


Sawmill

by 2xcross



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Gore, Humor, Implied Heavy/Medic (Team Fortress 2), Mutilation, One Shot, Slapstick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 08:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21250499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2xcross/pseuds/2xcross
Summary: Don’t leave a demolition expert and an expert in deadly machines partying alone at night. Please read the tags!





	Sawmill

Waking up by the morning light in a wood floor without any support for his head (not even his helmet, if that counts) is not what Engineer planned yesterday (or at least he doesn’t remember). Every inch of his middle aged body is hurting like ten horses ran over him, turned around, and ran over him again.

He sits, observing around. First of all, aside from his helmet, his glove is missing. Second, the place where he is gives the impression that an entire herd of cows rushed it. However, only humans can do evil, when animals don’t even have any concept of morals, he philosophizes, and only humans can make alcohol, he reckons while looking at all the empty bottles around him.

(Besides, there is no cows where they are. It isn’t Teufort).

_Aw_. His head hurts, a lot. He gets a sharp pain in his forehead when he stands too fast.

It’s not only empty bottles around him. The sawmill central point is filled with trash, from broken bottles glass (of course), to broken metal and wood pieces, and one rusty red trolley (why's that there?), all without counting other type of destruction in it—thanks God BLU isn’t there yet. Having missing two saws of the point is for the less, inquieting. The alcohol blackout is leaving him unable to remember what exactly happened last night. Looking at the amount of bottles, it would make anyone think that it was a party with over ten people.

Except it was two. Engineer is honest with himself and recognizes he does drink a lot, the thing is that the partying person number two drinks way, way more than him—double at least.

He walks in direction of the still sleeping member of their personal party. Still snoring, so it goes without saying that he is alive. What is peculiar is the table over him, with tools over it.

“What the...?”

Maybe he can try to ask in vain to Demoman. He won’t remember either.

Engie kicks lightly Demo’s leg to wake him up. No answer.

He kicks Demoman’s leg once more, this time harder. Demo wakes up abruptly, trying to sit and hitting his face against the table instead.

“Good Morning,” greets Engie while giggling.

Demoman only grumbles as answer, covering his face. He soon comes out from under the table with a frown. Once in his feet, he walks towards Engineer who tries to evade him, but Demo with a fast stride with his longer legs reaches Engie, catching him from behind his neck just how a cat would grab her offspring. Engineer frees himself by pulling from Demo’s arm with his robotic arm.

Both find themselves offering their fists, until the two of them put their arms down a moment later.

“Morning,” finally bothers to respond Demoman, chortling content with his retaliation. Then he resumes rubbing his face with a soft _‘ow.’_

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

Demo shrugs, not caring about it anymore.

Engineer clears his throat, red faced with anger, still not entirely used to the short lived fights he tends to have with Demo over usually disagreements, that at worst end in insults about cut hands and missing haunted eyes. He being already somewhat touchy and Demoman also being temperamental doesn’t help at all, who overreacts and talks loud (though not as loud as Soldier, unless he is screaming for Medic). Demo always calms down soon after, like nothing happened, way more sooner than Engineer—though his usual affable smile always returns to his face along with his good mood.

Demo grabs an empty bottle from the floor.

“Ain’t it too early for that?”

Demo ignores him, turning around. Engie hears the sound of a zipper, making him turn around.

“_Uggh!_”

“I HAVE to! Shut up! Ye don’t say anything to Sniper when he does the same...”

Once the sound of the zipper is heard again, both turn around face to face.

Demoman takes a good long look at the mess around them. “What the FUCK?”

“...Agree.” _Is the swearing necessary?_ “Do ya remember anythin’?”

“_Pfff_, obviously I don’t.”

He keeps observing the place. What attracts the most of Demoman’s attention is the shotgun shrapnel and burn marks on the walls. Even the floor has some holes from obviously previous blasts.

His sticky launcher is lying next to the table where he was sleeping moments ago. Demo lifts it up, and takes off an ammunition clip: empty. Meanwhile Engie does the same with his shotgun, also finding up isn’t loaded after cocking it. He also doesn’t have more shells with him, but does has pistol ammunition that’s not a surprise since Engie never runs out of bullets.

“Are ya sure we were intoxicated with only alcohol.”

Demoman chuckles, eye wide open. “I dunno...”

Paranoia. What could provoke intense paranoia? What were they attempting to fight? The BLU team isn’t there (yet); they weren’t fighting each other, one of them (or both) would have been dead. What...? 

Demo kicks a shiny white broken metal piece. He picks it up, and Engineer as curious as him gets closer to study it.

“Is this...?” Demoman queries, already knowing the answer, which explains the trolley presence.

“Yep. That’s what’s left of the washing machine.”

How in the fuck did they bring it out here to the point.

“_Oh._ We were fighting the team,” Demoman concludes.

“...You’re right. That still doesn’t explain what we were tryin’ to make.”

Both look around, only been able to see the disaster they made.

Demo laughs. “I think we broke or exploded everything we tried to do.”

Engineer joins his laughs. “I’m not buyin’ a washin’ machine.”

“What ye gonna do? Put it together again?” jokes Demo, Engineer responding with a _‘bah!’_. “What I’m nae doin’ is washin’ other dirty clothes, ugh.” 

“What I need is a shower. And breakfast.”

Demoman agrees. They walk towards the bigger entry in their way to RED’s base, discussing what pseudo-proper explanation they could give to the rest of the team. 

Then, the unthinkable happens.

When they’re near the doorway, Engineer’s notices for the first time since they woke up, a dangerous buzzsaw hanging on the wall. It's kept from falling by a hook badly hammered onto the wall (that shouldn’t be there), having several extra crooked screws near. Weirdly, one of the basketball loops (that also shouldn’t be there; it should be in the smaller doorway) as badly hammered as the hook, keeps it semi-horizontal from below. An additional undefined device can be glimpsed near behind the blade, between the hook and the loop base, something that Engie can’t discern well enough.

Engie stops Demoman with an arm but is too late. They both hear the well-known beeping sound of a sentry gun locking in an enemy.

An explosion occurs.

Engineer covers his head with his hands. Is the worst possible moment to have his helmet missing. His ears are ringing and he smells smoke. The sound of something else falling to the ground in front of them can be listen. It must the rest of the odd structure.

Opening his eyes covered by his goggles, turns around to see his teammate.

He screams at the top of his lungs: Demoman’s head is missing.

The still standing body of Demoman flinches. From the collar of his protective vest emerges Demo head, with the same demeanor of a turtle pulling out its head from its shell.

Engineer sighs relieved.

“_WHAT THE FUCK,_” wails Demoman, who is still grabbing the collar of his vest.

His teammate doesn’t know what to say. Even if they tried in their drunkenness to shelter themselves of their own team by designing in the air a death trap (tramping themselves inside in the way), it didn’t make any sense that the saw flew horizontally instead of just falling downwards, looking to decapite—or more—any victim, as if was a guillotine.

That resolves the mystery of the missing saws of the point, or at least one of them. The one that almost killed both must have flew to the other side.

_Oh no._

As Engie predicted, the flying saw landed in the wall ahead, across the shed to the bigger gate of the other side, and not without casualties.

Demoman holds his head. “_Oh shite_, Soldier...”

Soldier, who is attached to the wood by the blade, fulmines them both with his gaze (or at the very least that’s what they feel through his helmet), having both of his fists in the inferior margin of his ribs.

They walk to where the injured men is, taking a better look of the wound. Soldier seems to look like he is standing as usual, if not for the saw in his midsection. The circular saw is perfectly placed just above his belt. Without the gravity of the situation, one of the healthy mercenaries would say out loud that it appears like a G.I. Joe action figure being separated from its center articulation. 

“What have you two done?!” inquires harshly Soldier, pointing at both with his index and middle finger, once the suspects are in front of him close enough. 

Demoman elbows Engineer, who elbows Demoman, neither knowing what to say.

Demo takes a step closer (however not close enough to get an unwanted punch from Soldier), inspecting with his sight the bloody edge of the saw. He notices is rusty. “Yer gonna need a tetanus vaccine,” he improvises, earning a new nudge from Engineer.

“He means ya shouldn’t worry Soldier.”

Soldier glares through his helmet. “Worry about what, exactly?”

He clearly wants answers, a _why_, or a _how_ more exactly. The other two open-mouthed try to find a proper answer in the other face, without results. Any attempt of a verbal explanation of the strange issue would rightfully anger Soldier.

“Just, hang in there, Soldier,” comes out with Engineer as a reflex, used to this type of mishaps.

Soldier blows air from his nose angrily, as Demoman punches Engineer in his arm.

“S-sorry...”

Engie yanks down Demoman by his shoulder. The short man rather does that than standing in his tiptoes, regardless if the rest of the team likes it or not. “Do you think we could patent”—he gestures briefly to the saw—“this?” he asks, only audible for Demo.

“What?!” Demo exclaims with apprehension as response, not really being the time to think about that.

“Just think about it, later. We have somethin’ else to worry about.”

As the two of them place their vision in Soldier and the saw again, the real horror begins. 

The lower half of Soldier’s body starts to slide down, his legs lacking actual support that provides a conscious person, gliding his feet onwards until the lower half sits on the floor in Soldier’s butt, legs open apart. As soon as the hemorrhage is not stopped anymore by the metal piece, a pulsing gush of arterial blood ejects from roughly the center of the split open cavity, while more blood drips down from the orifice of the saw. The aorta and everything else there has been clean cut.

Demoman and Engineer can’t stop looking yet. From the severed skin (that’s partially folding down), they only see an amalgamation of flesh. Connective tissue like fat, muscles; they don’t differentiate well when one layer start and another ends, not until the guts. The membrane that holds the organs must be there (no need to really learn medical terms when Medic can tell you), around the intestines and the split kidneys that sit in front of the as bisect as them spine.

“What. What is happening...?”

The two present members of the defensive classes fake smile for Soldier. When they look down their grins turn upside down, aside from their worrisome frowns. When they look up at Soldier’s face again, their smiles appear even more false than previously. Both look down again, and the cycle repeats until Soldier scowl at them harder.

Engineer places his arm firmly behind Demo to make him turn around with him, then hangs it in his shoulders, pushing Demo down again.

“I think is before...” Engineer gesticulates near his paunch, trying to refer to the diaphragm without remembering the term.

Soldier clears his throat, trying to make them notice his presence.

“Oh, I think ken what ye mean. Most of the, ye know, the most important stuff, must be up there.” Demo points up, thinking in the stomach, liver, pancreas, spleen, and whatever else is there—and not down with the rest of the body. The thoracic box seems fine, which means lungs and heart are intact. “He... can breathe.”

“Yes, that’s good. That still leave us with the hemorrhage.” He puts his hand in his chin. “And cleavin’ the marrow can’t be good.”

“I know...” Demo doesn’t really have any patience for Engie’s sudden patronizing outbursts, or that’s how Demo feels them.

Neither of them are exactly good with anatomy, it didn’t matter even when both are men of science. Is not like they don’t see this daily, slaughter is literally part of their work. One’s job is obliterating people to pieces with explosives made by himself, expert in destruction (in fancy words, expert in chemical hazard), while the other job and expertise is filling enemies with bullets with deadly machines designed by him (and oh, helps the team too). Even if Engie spends a lot of his time with Medic, he (just as Demoman) hasn’t bothered with learning all the medical jargon aside from the basics. His business, as for everyone else, is death—particularly, in the case of both Demo and Engie, _it is_ family business. They weren’t forced to follow it: they _love_ it.

An accident isn’t really the moment to learn about anatomy (except if you’re Medic). Time is ticking.

Engie retires his arm from Demo’s shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, what?!” Demo exclaims as he follows Engie with his sight, concerned.

“He needs a dispenser.” 

“Oh...” Demo discerns, “that makes sense,” adds looking at Soldier who’s glaring back at him, with his arms crossed and his jaw about to break from how tight he is clenching it.

Soldier needs some medical attention right now, and calling Medic would be a waste of precious time, especially when they could amend the urgency of the situation by their own (for the moment), so better to keep an eye on the injured man.

...Patenting the thing they made? The _monstrosity_ they made? Only a bomb with nails could compare to it, but worse. The artifact doesn’t make any sense; only pieces were left of it and they’d need to figure out backwards what they did. No: it would need a completely redesign, from the blueprints to find the perfect type of chemical reaction for it, different from what he uses in his weapons.

Demoman presses the bridge of his nose. Why think about that? Engineer is even more nuts than him, that’s for sure, even if the impression is the exact opposite for strangers. Time ago he got into an ugly fight with Engie by telling him that he madly loved more his machines than people. Demo never retracted that statement, except the ‘you being nice is only an act’ part.

(Engie is a nice guy, act or not. Demo’s mum says that you are what you do, that’s why you need to have several jobs and...)

Wait. Did they really activated the sensors, or was Soldier?

Meanwhile, Engineer is looking for a dispenser. There is—somehow—five stupid toolboxes scattered around the building. Without counting the one that’s already open with only junk, at least one dispenser has to be inside in one of the four remaining boxes.

The first toolbox that Engie goes near is just a few steps behind then, upside down. When he picks it up, notices that the weight of the box is too light to have anything in it. “Darn,” he curses in a sotto voice, opening the case anyway.

In the meantime, Demoman takes a bit of courage to talk with his not very pleased teammate, still stuck in the wall. 

“Oi Soldier,” he approaches, with an insecure smirk, “do ye have any idea of what happened here?”

“Shouldn’t you know that?”

“Ach, you know that I don’t, and neither does Engie.”

“Not even Engineer, huh...”

Engie gulps. The next box is near the table in the middle of the point.

“Last night, you two maggots decided to hang around here, alone, being angry because Medic was doing _something_”—he raises his arms, showing disregard—“with Heavy instead.”

Demoman chokes, while Engineer once again whistles, arriving to the next box near the center of the building, in the point and next to the trolley.

“Oh shite, okay...” Aside from Medic’s ‘business’ with Heavy, that means he was replacing Medic’s place, Demo concludes. No hard feelings, he does hang around both Engineer and Medic at times, but his interest begins and ends in his enthusiasm and expertise in chemistry, as the other two deviate from not-very-ethical science to even-less-ethical science. Not a problem either, is just that as the other two ramble, he often gets more and more drunk, listening even less their incessant talking.

He didn’t expect to his friendship with Engineer to be more potentially dangerous than Medic and Engie, or more destructive than Soldier and him.

“Then, what were ya doin’, Soldier?” asks Engie.

“Me? I wasn’t wasting my time like you, or Heavy and Medic...”

“Oh, they weren’t wastin’ any time...” mumbles Demoman, Engineer hearing that when he walks next to him, moving to the next box. He sighs frustrated.

“...I was cleaning the bathroom.”

“Ya weren’t throwing junk in the toilets, were ya?”

Soldier takes half a second to answer. “...No, I wasn’t.”

Engineer thinks that does mean _one_ toilet, knowing how literal can be Soldier. He lifts the container, perceiving weight inside it. He opens the second metal box to find a (broken) teleporter. He grumps loudly. “Damnit!” he cusses, then slams the floor with his robotic hand.

Soldier ignores Engineer’s outrage. “When I was going to bed,” he continues, “I was told by Scout that you two stole the only washing machine we have here—”

“Why do we only have _one?_” cuts off Demoman. Engineer nods, still kneeling in front of the teleporter.

“Not the point! Me and Scout,” explains grammatically incorrect, “tried to take the washer from your dirty thieving hands, but you shot anyone that got too close! You were mad like raccoons with rabies! Almost foaming from your mouths!”

Engineer begins to wonder for a second time if they really only consumed alcohol. Detergent, maybe?

“Medic and Heavy were _still_ occupied?” interrupts again Demo.

“Ah, shut up!” snaps Engie, increasingly irritated by not finding the dispenser and by Demo’s foolery itself (_that’s a privacy matter!_)

“I was going to fight back! If it wasn’t for Pyro, Spy and Scout stopping me.” Soldier’s anger washes down as he keeps talking. “They said they wanted a new washer. Wait no, more than one, and they weren’t paying for them. Spy also said that we shouldn't worry about Sniper.”

Demoman cackles shortly.

“We didn’t really hurt anybody, right?” inquires once more Engie, erasing Demo’s funny face with it.

“Only Scout, but he’s fine.”

“Okay,” concludes too fast Engie, that Demo clears his throat. “Wait, is he really fine?”

“Yes he is,” insists Soldier sharply. “Ask me about something else.”

Engie is too upset to think about something else to ask, focusing on moving to the next toolbox that’ll hopefully contain the dispenser he’s looking for. Is between the small entrance and the stairs of the not-present enemy team, over to the wood planks in front of the logs, a pile that thankfully for Engie’s size is smaller than RED pile. 

“Hmm, I think that resolves the case,” tries to make fun Demoman.

Soldier grins. “Yes, we should start thinking about punishment.” 

“Not so fast, mate.”

“Who’s a lawyer here...?”

It has to be the lucky one. Engineer takes a deep breath before opening the third box: 

He finds a level one sentry gun.

“_...Fuck,_” he mutters, loud enough for Demo and Soldier to hear. 

Both of the explosive classes gasp, frankly impressed by Engineer using a f-bomb. They can’t recall any other occasion of the texan dropping one of those ever before.

“Ah. Don’t make a big deal ‘bout that y’all.”

Nobody says anything during the interval of Engineer closing the last toolbox he has opened. Oh they _can’t_ be that impressed, he thinks.

“It seems you’ve spent too much time with Demo since last night,” Soldier finally breaks the silence.

Engineer snickers as he stands up again. If the next box doesn’t have a damn dispenser he will _scream._

Demo grumbles a bit. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. _Perhaps_ that’s the case.” He is the one that curses the most after all, unless Pyro is secretly cursing all the time.

Still waiting and not being sure of what to do, Demoman peeks at the lower body half, just in time. Is leaning too forward and risking to pour Soldier’s insides out. Demo crouches fast, his face too close to the saw. He takes a hold of the severed midsection by the side, pushing it back to the wall. Next he stands again, with more care this time.

“You almost just killed yourself,” points out Soldier.

“...Aye.” Demo cleans his hands in the fabric on his legs of his jumpsuit, then strokes his front and his throat with both hands. “I did.”

“What were you doing down there?”

“Well, I...” He begins giggling no-stop, thinking in how weird that question sounds (_‘doing something down’_). Demoman is not going to tell Soldier he was preventing his guts to come out and fall to the dirty wood floor either. 

“Don’t make this weird!”

“Is nervous laughing, not what you think!”

“Liar!”

Demoman frowns, even acknowledging is truth. “Shut! Up!” he shouts back. His head already hurt from the hangover, Soldier screaming doesn’t help.

“Shut me!” Soldier challenges.

“Don’t!” interjects Engineer. He is the most coldheaded of the three, only by discard. In other words, is just the less boisterous. “He wants to snap your neck.”

“_Both_ of your necks you mean! You... Team killer maggots!”

“Soldier, you choke Scout at least daily,” Demo snaps back.

“That doesn’t count!” (Is not _that_ much). “Do Not Change the Subject.”

The last tool box is in the middle of the stairs of the RED team, right in the turn. With heavy steps he gets there, this time just crouching instead of kneeling, ready for a disappointment. Perhaps they should have called Medic from the start, he reflects before opening the last box with a snarl in his face.

Eureka, a dispenser level one arises. His habitual smile finally returns back to his face. They don’t need Medic, not for now.

“Stop fightin’!” he yells at his teammates. Soon he arrives with the tool box secure in his hands.

Demo smiles at the sight, looking at the box. “Finally.”

Engineer groans, placing and opening the tool box with the Dispense-O-Matic farther away from the saw and Soldier than Demoman expected.

“That should be closer...”

Before Demoman could finish, Engie tugs him down again.

“We need to, put him together,” explains Engineer next to Demo’s ear.

“Ah. Yes. To _fix him_,” Demo replies back, a little too loud.

Soldier’s eyes open wide. Neither Engie or Demo can see that, but they can see his jaw falling. He stretches his arms down instinctively to protect his parts, being then blocked by the blade; his face can’t get more pale than he already is, due to his major injury.

He can expect anything at this point.

Engineer coughs. “Not like that.”

Demoman guffaws until Engineer punches him in the stomach. 

“...Right,” says winded. “Let’s get to work.”

Meanwhile Soldier grumbles rabid, the other two not injured and certainly not cut in half mercenaries turn their backs. Demoman explains to Engineer that he just moved Soldier’s half and he refuses to touch it again.

“Then I assume you’re alright to lift him from his armpits,” titters Engie.

Oh no, no no. Demoman isn’t. He changes his mind, not wanting to be strangulate by Soldier powerful arms, even if he is wounded. The discussion continues with the disagreement. Engineer for once in his life takes advantage of being stocky, reasoning that he is too small to be able to lift Soldier upper half from the saw.

“_Fuck!_”

“That’s what I thought ya’d say.”

They take a look on Soldier.

“What are you two looking at?” he retorts.

Demoman huffes, pressing his knees. “Fine. I will do it.”

“Do _what?_” asks Soldier.

“That doesn’t concern ye.”

“_I_ think it does, by the way you are walking threateningly at me.”

“_Aw_, we aren’t walkin’ threateningly at you Soldier,” differs Engineer smiling, with his characteristic soft spoken southern voice of him (unless he lowers his voice to says something menacing). “We are here to help.”

Soldier squints his eyes. He can’t really get angry with Engineer if he talks to him like that. He is courteous and considerate, never insults Soldier’s intelligence or anything of the same kind, something that he couldn’t not appreciate. Getting mad at him is almost impossible, titanic task to do, if wasn’t for the bizarre circumstances they were all trapped.

“Easy to say that after you attempted to murder me.” He can’t forget that not so small detail, especially when he is still pinned indefensively to the wall like that.

“In my...” Demoman hesitates. “I mean in _our_ defense, it was an accident.”

“I’m pretty sure that something like that can’t be done on accident, private!”

Engineer gets closer, having in mind what he needs to do. “We were drunk, it doesn’t really count.”

“That’s the type of excuses that Demo does, not you. You disappointed me.”

“Aw, shucks...”

“What?!” yells offended Demoman. Engineer does a _‘keep talking’_ hand gesture to him: keep his attention.

Demo takes a step closer to block Soldier’s view, to let Engie to sneak down.

“Ye are being an ass, ye know?”

“What? _Me?_ I’m the one injured here!”

Engineer whispers to himself _‘not like that,’_ being aware that altering even more Soldier isn’t a good idea. He pushes to the side the lower body of Soldier, right next to the dispenser. The healing seems to even work with a severed part, stopping the constant dripping of blood. That usually doesn’t happen—interesting, he should remember to mention this to Medic once he is there.

Just as Demoman, he wipes his hands in his overall, standing next to him.

“Your turn.”

“Turn of what.” Soldier couldn’t even see enough from above the saw, being completely unaware of what Engineer just did.

“Dinnae worry mate, this will soon be over.”

Hearing that, his first reaction is to shrug his shoulders. Soldier usually trust in Demoman’s judgment, whether if it is about actual good ideas, or bad ideas that Demo is one-hundred percent aware are wrong but wants or accepts to do anyway. Demo is supposed to be the responsible one of the two, yet both know that is often not the case. 

Soldier second reaction is startle back, clenching his fists and protecting (what’s left of) his severed body.

“That’s nae what I say!” Demoman peeks at Engie with a forced smile.

“Stay back!” snarls Soldier.

Demoman does the contrary, getting closer with his hands up. He opens and closes his hands in a nervous twitch.

Engineer tries his best to mollify both explosive classes. Under his breath he soothes Demo: “I will help you...” He won’t just look when Soldier inexorably tries to go for Demo’s neck. “Come on buddy,” calms an even more anxious Soldier. Who wouldn’t in such predicament, being cornered how he is.

Demoman cracks his knuckles by intervening his hands forward, alerting even more Soldier. Engineer shakes his head in disapproval.

“This is going to be quick,” reassures Demo, a bit more for himself than for Soldier. He exhales loudly and takes a second to think, staring at Soldier. 

In a too sudden manner to Engineer to follow, Demoman strides towards Soldier and lifts him up by his underarms. Soldier screeches in pain immediately after he is abruptly detach of the saw, the shriek becoming a livid howl. Defending himself, he begins to strangle Demoman as expected, who provides a suffocated yell back. Engineer runs at them with the purpose of helping Demo, but stops dead when he sees blood and entrails sliding out of Soldier’s upper half, held by a yellow layer. Oh, that must be the peritoneum, he recalls (or is the omentum? Is the same thing? What about the mesentery? He can’t complain about Medic remembering all kinds of nomenclature after eleven PhDs). 

(Is just that he can’t have as much interest in biology—life—as he has in mechanical artifacts made for exclusively killing, just as Medic more than a doctor, or crazy scientist, is someone who enjoys more about hurting than healing, unless is healing while adding extra ‘features’ to his patients).

Followed by a trail of blood on the floor, once Demo is done placing the two body halves back together next to the dispenser, Engineer forces Soldier’s hands away from Demo’s neck. The last one bends coughing, his eye with tears.

In the hustle Soldier lost his helmet, revealing his pallid face devoid of blood and glassy eyes. Engineer sees how Soldier breathes arduously, whining hushedly in between of those, his face wincing during every single one of them. At the very least his body is healing thanks to the dispenser.

“I am...” Engie vacillates. He joins his palm together. “I am very sorry ‘bout, all of this...”—Gestures a circle with his right—“...Soldier.”

Soldier grimaces, staring at him.

“I’m sorry too,” joins Demoman, leaning on the dispenser from the other side. “This shouldn't hae happened.”

In response, Soldier attempts to laugh scornful. He is only able to wheeze at the delayed apologies, too tired.

Engineer sighs, shrugging. 

“I’m gonna upgrade this, Demo can you bring Medic here, please?”

Engie has way more of plenty scraps to level up the dispenser, however they can’t postpone actual medical attention for Soldier forever. They also need to fix and tidy up the shed as soon as possible: the BLU team follows them whenever they go, including a sawmill in a mountain with an underground spytech base.

Demoman stretches his back. “I’ll be right back.”

He walks to the stairs up to the rooftops of RED. When he is about to climb the stairs, Engie stops him.

“Wait!” yells Engie, with his recently found wrench in hand. “Don’t ya just scream for Medic in the doorway, go to the base.”

“...Sure.”

Demoman climbs the stairs, while Engie grabs some metal pieces.

“Oh, he is going to scream in the doorway,” whispers Soldier with a faint smile.

Engineer locks his eyes in the small room at the end of the stairs. Both Soldier and him can hear the first syllable of ‘ME-DIC’, when once again the unimaginable happens. 

Another smaller explosion occurs, this time shattering the windows of the room. When Engie and Soldier uncover their eyes, aside from the shattered glass sheets and the smoke, they can see a spout of blood staining the windows side to side.

“Demo?!” calls Engineer. 

No answers. The only noise they can hear is their own breathing and the raining outside.

He exchanges looks with Soldier. Before any can say anything, a scream comes down from the second floor room.

“_FFFFUCK...!_”

Engie tries to take off the helmet that he already doesn’t have. “Oh my God, Demo...” Asking if he is okay would be pretty stupid.

“Ah found _the other_ missin’ saw! FUCK...!”

“And his arm is down stairs,” points Soldier with his own arm, still with a low voice. Engineer can see he is right, slapping his forehead and then rubbing his bald head.

After a little more continuous non-stop swearing, Demoman carries on. “If ye are curious, I’m _‘fineee...’_ for NOW. Can ye stop wastin’ time and _CALL MEDIC?!_”

Demoman is clearly talking to Engineer, the last man standing.

“Don’t move,” Engie requests to Soldier.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

“I mean don’t fall and split yourself in two again, boy.”

“That wasn’t MY fault!” retorts Soldier. “You should’ve called Medic from the start!”

**Author's Note:**

> happy halloween! this would be more atrocious (*wink*) if wasn't for my beta reader (tysm!!!)


End file.
